


Canvas

by prydon



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Other, Peter Nureyev Needs a Hug, Peter Nureyev's unhealthy relationship with makeup: the fic, but also tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prydon/pseuds/prydon
Summary: Nureyev finishes Duke’s makeup and stares at his reflection.This is what he’s going to look like to play Juno Steel’s husband- to be the partner in crime of that beautiful lady he had the immense delight of running into several weeks ago. Juno Steel, who he’s given his name, and his…Well. The name is the important part.This is Duke Rose, handsome up-and-coming thief. Expert gambler. The kind of person that could even make someone like Dahlia Rose swoon.He stares at himself for a full minute, then he pulls out his makeup remover, wipes down his entire face, and starts again.This time, it’ll be good enough.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 31
Kudos: 110





	Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a spiritual prequel to one of the first Penumbra fic I wrote- ["Mask"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467913), which is set during s3 and explores the idea of Nureyev being uncomfortable being seen without makeup. Same idea, but it's set during s1, so it's...uh, more sad.
> 
> CWs:  
> \- Brief depiction of aftermath of/injuries from (Miasma's) torture  
> \- Reference to malnutrition  
> \- Nureyev-typical internalized ageism and insecurities  
> \- Juno-typical threatening his own life to protect Nureyev

It takes Nureyev twenty minutes of searching through his extensive makeup collection before he finally finds all the right shades for Duke Rose, and then the ritual begins.

He puts the makeup on layer by layer, moisturizer and foundation and concealer- a little extra of the latter under the eyes, to hide his dark shadows and crow’s feet. He applies the deep red lipstick, lets it set, then goes over it with a layer of glaze so it shines. He sharpens his already sharp cheekbones. He blends three different colors of eyeshadow over his eyes until they transition as beautifully as a sunset. He lines his eyebrows, then his eyes, and then puts on mascara and false lashes. A touch of glittery blush.

Every item, every sweep of a brush is chosen deliberately to suit Rose’s persona. Every one of his aliases has a different style of makeup, different lip colors they favor and eye shapes they pursue. The only thing they have in common is that they all wear _a lot_ of it.

It has been his ritual for as long as he can remember. Ever since he left Brahma, he’s been wearing makeup. At first it was just a way to disguise himself, but eventually it became part of the act. Part of the masks he wears, and a way to express himself. He enjoys it, the way he can change his face, alter it like an artist working on a canvas.

As time passes and he grows older, however…it feels less like a piece of artwork he’s creating and more and more like a necessity. It’s what he has to do if he wants to be able to succeed in his job, whether he likes it or not.

He’s only ever bare-faced when he’s alone, and sometimes not even then. He tries not to think too hard about the way he avoids reflective surfaces in his hotel rooms after he’s taken his makeup off; how he brushes his teeth in the dark so he can’t see his bare skin in the bathroom mirror. How every time he sees himself without makeup on, the person staring back at him looks worse and worse and feels less and less like himself.

He finishes Duke’s makeup and stares at his reflection.

This is what he’s going to look like to play Juno Steel’s husband- to be the partner in crime of that beautiful lady he had the immense delight of running into several weeks ago. Juno Steel, who he’s given his name, and his…Well. The name is the important part.

This is Duke Rose, handsome up-and-coming thief. Expert gambler. The kind of person that could even make someone like Dahlia Rose swoon.

He stares at himself for a full minute, then he pulls out his makeup remover, wipes down his entire face, and starts again.

This time, it’ll be good enough.

By the time he gets to the card table and sits down with Engstrom, he’s still not totally satisfied with his appearance, but it’s too late to make any more changes. It’ll have to do.

It does make him relax slightly, when Juno walks up to the table and his eyes immediately trace Nureyev’s face like an art historian might gaze at a particularly valuable sculpture. Maybe the makeup is doing its work, after all- and the jewelry and clothes he so meticulously picked out when he packed for this job can’t hurt, either.

They make it out of the card game triumphant and alive, as Nureyev knew they would. He and Juno make good partners; he could tell that from the moment they met. Juno doesn’t seem particularly enthused, however, and he argues with Nureyev the whole way back to their hotel room.

He even goes so far as to accuse Nureyev of contacting Miasma via secret code. Nureyev would be a little more bothered by the fact that his doodles are apparently so poorly drawn as to be able to be mistaken for such a thing, if the mistake weren’t so infuriatingly endearing. Most things about Juno Steel are.

At some point, Juno leaves the room to make a call, and Nureyev goes to the bathroom to ready himself for bed. He’s prepared for this occasion too, of course- he slips out of his clothes and into a near-sheer pink robe. He isn’t Duke Rose anymore now that they’ve completed this part of their mission, but…he likes Duke Rose. He doesn’t mind being in his skin a little while longer, especially considering that he and Juno will be sharing a bed. A tactical necessity, of course. Duke and Dahlia are married, so it wouldn’t have made sense to ask for a room with two beds.

He hesitates after he changes, staring in the mirror again. His makeup has held up perfectly, of course. It’s the best available, designed to withstand even being fully submerged in water.

Marks don’t get to see his bare face. He doesn’t trust them with it. Every time he’s ever had to sleep beside one for a mission, he’s left everything on. He does trust Juno, though. He’s decided to.

He gets out his makeup wipes and pauses for a moment with one next to his face. Considers.

Then he sets it back down.

He may trust Juno, but he’d still like the lady to be _attracted_ to him. After all, the fastest road to get someone to trust you back is to get them to like you, and the fastest road to that is attraction. If Juno sees him bare-faced, he’ll almost certainly lose whatever attraction he’s felt towards Nureyev- or Rose, or Glass. That’s not acceptable.

Juno notices, after he comes back in from his call on the balcony and finishes grumbling about the fact that they have to share a bed. Of course he does.

“Aren’t you going to take your makeup off?”

Nureyev doesn’t reply for a moment, just tilting his head and taking in the sight of Juno. He’s dressed down to his undershirt and the sweatpants he was wearing before he changed into Dahlia’s clothes, leaning back on the bed and scratching idly at an itch on his torso. His hair is unkempt, face unshaven, skin lined with scars and clearly not well-moisturized.

He’s gorgeous.

Nureyev can only ever dream of being that gorgeous, even with his makeup on.

“It’s designed to be worn overnight,” he replies idly. It’s a lie, of course. It’s not designed to be worn overnight, but…it _can_ be. “We’ll likely have an early start tomorrow, so there’s no point wasting time doing it all up again.”

“Guess not,” Juno says, though he’s still eyeing Nureyev suspiciously, as though _this_ could somehow also be a sign that he’s up to some nefarious grand master plan. “That stuff must take you a while, right?”

It does. There are days Nureyev spends over an hour in front of the mirror, making sure to cover every pore and draw both winged eyes perfectly even. He’s accustom to the time sink by now; barely thinks anything of it. It’s just part of his routine. It’s just what he has to do.

Admitting that feels…pathetic, though. He doesn’t want Juno to know just how hard he works to create the image of himself he’s presenting. He wants it to seem effortless, as though he could look like this at any time on any day with just a flick of his wrist.

He shrugs. “It’s only makeup, Juno.”

“Whatever,” Juno grunts. “Not like I care.”

The petulant detective sleeps as far away from Nureyev as he can manage on the double bed, but it’s a distance so purposefully measured that Nureyev can’t help but read more into than he would have if Juno had merely slept beside him as normal. _Methinks the lady doth protest too much._

He smiles to himself.

He was certainly right about not having time to do his makeup the next morning. As it is, he barely has time to touch it up and throw Duke’s clothes back on before he and Juno have to flee their hotel room- a room that now holds the lifeless body of an assassin sent to kill Juno.

Somehow, the day only gets worse from there, and ends in him standing in the middle of the desert with half a dozen guns to his head.

He survives, though. They both do. This should be a relief, except then…

Then a tomb underground.

Then shackles on his wrists that send currents of electricity through his body.

Then Juno, bleeding from his nose and eye, lying weakly in the corner of their cell.

It isn’t how he wanted this to go. None of this was supposed to happen. When he’d imagined inviting Juno along with him on this job, he’d imagined them fighting side-by-side and _winning._ He’d imagined escaping the train hand in hand, with victorious smiles and hearts racing with the good kind of adrenaline. He imagined disposing of the Egg of Purus so no one could ever use it again, and then inviting Juno to come with him a second time, and Juno saying yes.

Instead, he’s currently tearing off pieces of his shirt and using them to wrap his burned, bloody arms as Juno lies next to him, still unconscious after their most recent go at the cards.

The wrappings don’t make his arms hurt any less. In fact, they might even make them hurt more, what with the added friction of the fabric rubbing up against the wounds whenever he moves. That’s not the point. Hiding them is the point.

They’ve been here for three days now, and Nureyev is still wearing his makeup.

He catches glimpses of himself in the glass vitrines he’s dragged by on his way to be tortured, in the metal cart that Miasma’s assistants wheel out next to him, laden with pliers and knives and lighters in case the electricity isn’t enough to motivate him. It’s held up surprisingly well, all things considered, but it’s still looking pretty bad. His lipstick is smeared, his eyes smudged so they now look less like sunsets and more like the mask of a raccoon.

He doesn’t want to take it off.

As long as it’s still on, he can still hide. He can still cling desperately to one last vestige of the man he wanted to be for Juno. His clothes are ripped and bloody, his jewelry taken from him, his nails chipped…but he still has his makeup. He doesn’t even want to think about what he must look like underneath it.

Two more days pass. Nureyev’s voice is hoarse from screaming. At first he’d forced himself to bite back the cries, but he’s too tired now.

In the beginning they’d both tried to maintain some sort of dignity, but something about being tortured and locked in a tomb together makes ‘dignity’ drop to the bottom of one’s list of concerns. Nureyev is wrapped in Juno’s arms now, curled against his chest. Juno saw him shivering and offered his own warmth. That’s all they can do at present: offer each other warmth. Less than a week ago Juno had refused to even get close to him when they were in bed together. Now he’s holding him like he’s the most precious thing left in the universe.

Probably because there isn’t much else left, in either of their universes. Just the cards and the tomb and each other.

Their daily meal is delivered while they’re lying together. It’s the same as it always is: two glasses of water and some processed, square, ration-type food. Yesterday, Nureyev had passed out on the floor of their cell, and only awoken hours later to Juno yelling at Miasma:

_“If you kill him, I’ll kill myself, understand me? You’re not getting anything more out of me if he dies. Give us more fucking food. The amount we’re getting now isn’t enough for him. You’re killing him.”_

Today they have a couple more squares than they got before. Juno divides them up: two for himself, four for Nureyev. Nureyev tries to protest, but Juno cuts him off.

“I have reserves,” he says. “You don’t. You need it more than I do.”

He reluctantly accepts, knowing that arguing will be pointless.

They eat in silence, until he notices Juno watching him and frowns. “Is something the matter, Juno?”

Juno hesitates, then says, “Hold on.”

Nureyev watches in confusion as Juno tears a strip off his button down shirt, then dips it in the last of the water in his cup. He gestures at Nureyev to move towards him, and Nureyev does without even thinking.

He holds up the wet cloth. “Here, let me wipe your makeup off.”

He moves it towards Nureyev’s face, and before Nureyev even has time to think or reply, he finds himself flinching away from it. “I…that’s not necessary.”

“You’ve been wearing it for like a week. It’s gotta be fucking up your skin.”

He’s right, of course. Nureyev knows better than anyone what is and isn’t good for his skin, and has spent years developing his skincare routine to account for that. He knows that leaving the stuff on will do more harm than good, in the long run.

It’s hard to care about the long run right now, though. It’s hard to care about anything except the lady who is sitting right in front of him, and who _he does not want to see his face._

He knows that he’s being ridiculous, but he can’t help it. Everything is so completely out of his control right now, and he is a person who has lived his whole life in pursuit of control- over his identity, his presentation, and his freedom. His makeup feels like it’s the only remnant of himself left that he still has a say in, not Miasma.

Not to mention the tiny, niggling fear in the back of his mind that Juno won’t like what his face looks like under the mask, will find it too old and tired and _flawed_ for as beautiful a lady as him.

“Nureyev…?”

Juno is looking at him oddly, and he suddenly knows he doesn’t have a choice. If he refuses, he’ll seem strange and obstinate, and he can’t have that either. He has to agree to this. “Mm. Yes, go ahead, Juno. Thank you.”

Juno’s hand is so agonizingly _gentle_ as he runs the cloth over his skin, with all the care of someone polishing a precious and fragile ornament. He’s so close that Nureyev can practically feel his breath, and Nureyev closes his eyes, trying to let the sensation relax him instead of making him nervous. How long has it been since someone touched him like this- no arousal, no desire behind the contact, just tender intimacy?

Nureyev blinks away the tears threatening to form in his eyes. Letting the makeup come off is bad enough, he’s _not_ going to allow himself to be so out of control as to cry at a simple touch.

“There you go,” Juno says, taking his hand away. If Nureyev involuntarily leans forward a little, chasing its loss…well, the detective doesn’t seem to notice. “That must feel a lot better, right?”

It does, Nureyev realizes. He hadn’t processed just how itchy and unpleasant the products had felt on his skin until they were finally gone. “Thank you very much, Juno.”

“Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

Juno’s eyes linger on his face, and Nureyev can’t help but squirm slightly under their gaze. “…Is something the matter?”

“Nah. I’ve just never seen you without the stuff, is all,” Juno says. “It’s…nice. Seeing your face, I mean.”

Nureyev immediately looks away, pressing his lips into a thin line. _It’s not my face,_ he wants to say. _My face is the one with the makeup. I want my face to be the one with the makeup. I want you to think of me like that, not like this._

Juno doesn’t seem disgusted by his bare face, however. He doesn’t look put off at it in the slightest. If anything, he looks…fond.

Nureyev doesn’t remember the last time anyone looked at any of his faces like that. Even the made up ones.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

He sinks against Juno, putting his head on his shoulder, and is very grateful when Juno doesn’t pull away.

Even if they die here…at least they have this. At least they have each other.

The next time Nureyev puts on makeup is in the bathroom of Hyperion General Hospital.

He hadn’t even thought about it until he’d gone there to use the toilet after Juno was taken away for eye surgery. He’d swiped some cheap moisturizer, lipstick, foundation and eyeliner from the same little store he’d stopped at to get them clean clothes, but he’d been too distracted worrying about Juno to even consider putting them on until now- until seeing his face reflected back at him in the hospital mirror.

He looks…

Well, he looks bad. He’s certain even Juno would agree with that. The past couple of weeks weren’t kind to either of them, and now he’s sallow and gaunt, his skin stretched unflatteringly over too-prominent bones. The break in both his skincare and his haircare routine certainly hasn’t helped either, and he glares miserably at the pockmarks on his nose and the grease in his locks.

There’s not much he can do about the hair right now, but he can at least help his face a little. He layers on the foundation, cringing at the way it doesn’t quite match his skin tone. Still, it’s something. The lipstick is much lower quality than he’s used to, too, but he still feels himself relax considerably once it’s on. He can get better products later. Right now, this will have to do.

The last and most difficult part is the eyeliner. He holds it up to his lid, expecting to be able to give himself a cat eye in one fell swoop like he usually does- but at the last moment, his hand trembles and it comes out completely crooked. He curses, wiping off the failed attempt with soap and water, and tries again. Fails again.

He glowers at his hand, which is now shaking in earnest. When Juno had suggested he check himself into the hospital too, he’d refused, breezily insisting that he could take care of his electrical burns himself. He always has, after all- taken care of himself. It’s much safer than letting strangers poke and prod at him and take his blood. Too much information can be gained from even routine hospital tests.

Now, though…

He gives up and pockets the eyeliner, pulling down his sleeve to make sure the bandages he applied are completely hidden. He still feels all wrong, like he’s walking around half-naked, but he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. He doesn’t have time to worry about something like _eyeliner._

He goes back to the waiting room to sit until Juno’s out of surgery.

While Juno is having the last few checkups that he needs before he’s discharged, Nureyev sets off on a mission. He buys new high quality makeup for himself, fresh food for Juno so he doesn’t have to eat any more lousy hospital cafeteria meals, new outfits for both of them- and a few private items he foresees them needing in the near future.

When he and Juno set out in the Ruby to the hotel where they’ll be spending the night before they’re off for the stars, he feels more at home in his skin than he has in weeks. Mostly because said skin is now entirely covered by a slick navy blue suit, driving gloves, polished dress shoes and the most expensive concealer he could find in the department store.

“Well, now I just feel weird, sitting next to you,” Juno grumbles, tugging at his shirt.

“I bought you several dresses. You’re the one who insisted on wearing the one pair of sweat pants and one t-shirt I got you, instead,” Nureyev replies.

“Yeah, well, they’re comfortable, and I’m still sore all over. Besides, it’s not like I’ll be wearing them for long,” he says, then immediately stammers, “I-I mean, ‘cause it’ll be nighttime soon, so I’ll have to change into pajamas-”

Nureyev grins wickedly. “But of course, love.”

They do a lot more than just sleep at the hotel, though Juno does eventually end up in the soft velvet pajamas that Nureyev snagged for him. He complains about them being unnecessarily fancy as he leaves the bathroom, holding the door open so that Nureyev can take his turn in the shower. Nureyev just laughs.

Despite his usual preoccupation with it, after Nureyev’s finished washing, drying, and wrapping himself up in his new robe, he almost doesn’t even think to check the mirror. Almost. Then it catches his eye on his way past, and he frowns.

His makeup is waterproof, and it held up pretty well- not only through the shower, but through the sweat and the heat and the dozens of kisses from Juno Steel. He could easily touch it up now, and return to Juno’s arms with his full face on.

But then Juno’s voice echoes in his mind, saying, _It’s…nice. Seeing your face, I mean._

He pauses with his hand halfway to his makeup kit, then changes directions and puts it on his remover wipes, instead. Before he even fully registers what he’s doing, he’s pulled one out and is swiping it across his face.

Once he gets all of the makeup off, he studies himself, and…he still doesn’t really like what he sees. But if Juno could look at this face for weeks when they were being tortured and still love him, still want to run away from him…maybe it’s okay. Maybe he can be allowed to see it. After all, they’re going to adventure together for the rest of their lives. Nureyev doesn’t really want to sleep in his makeup every single night for the foreseeable future. He’s put his poor pores through enough already.

No, Juno can see this face. He can be the one person in the universe who’s allowed to see it. The thought is terrifying, of course, and still feels a little like walking out into public with his internal organs visible, but…this is what Juno Steel does to him.

He coaxes out his rawest selves and loves him anyway. He saw Nureyev without makeup, and he still stayed. He saw whatever was in the darkest recesses of his memory, and he still stayed. He heard his name, heard his screams, heard his tears as he pounded on that door, and he’s still here in the hotel room with him.

When he walks back out into the room, the light from Mars’ twin moons illuminating his face, Juno smiles.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Nureyev replies.

For once, in the wake of that smile, even completely unmasked and exposed…he doesn’t feel ugly at all.

He almost feels beautiful.

The next morning, Nureyev rises from bed late. He walks to the bathroom like someone else is controlling his legs. He does his skin care routine mechanically, as he has almost every other morning for the past twenty years of his life.

His hands shake. He’s not sure if it’s still the nerve damage causing it, or something else. He’s not sure which would be worse.

He puts the mask back on layer by layer, product by product, and resolves to never remove it again in the presence of anyone other than himself. Why would he? Whatever he is without it, it’s clearly not good enough. He’s always known that. He never should have made the mistake of convincing himself otherwise.

The image of that smile still plays in his mind, over and over like a broken record. He smashes the record and shoves the pieces of it into the very back filing cabinets of his mind, labeled _no future consideration_.

He stares at his glossy black lips in the mirror. He stares at the blush hiding the pallor of his face, the concealer and liner covering the red rims around his eyes. It’s perfect. He could cry as hard as he wanted right now and not so much as smudge this makeup.

He won’t cry, of course.

Except…he was wrong. It _isn’t_ a mask. Not anymore. The word mask implies there is something underneath, and Peter Nureyev is gone- nothing more than an indent in a hotel bed. He’s not sure who he is now, but he knows they wear their eyeliner razor sharp, draw in their eyebrows thin, and are a demon with a contour brush. He knows they’ve never met or trusted a detective named Juno Steel, and certainly never loved him.

That’s all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> ...Sorry about that ending. Blame Kabert for it. If you want the happy conclusion, you'll have to go read [Mask](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467913) haha.
> 
> Still, hope you liked!! Been pouring a lot of time and effort into my big bang fic recently (which is looking like it will be...VERY long, so look forward to that I guess) so it was nice to take a break and do something short again.
> 
> Comments and kudos are so so SO appreciated, and you can follow me on tumblr @prydon or twitter @prydonn.


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